


Bro Dates

by tuukkasrask



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, How Bromantic, Ice Skating, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sno Cones, Sorry this is so bad, i had to do it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuukkasrask/pseuds/tuukkasrask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>good weed, skating, sno cones, and a lil kissing too</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bro Dates

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a fic about Tyler and Mike Stud's bro love for awhile now, so thanks to Mike's actual visit to Dallas about a month or so ago, I got some inspiration and took the liberty of replacing actual events between the two with some of my own head canons (like come on, going to watch Byron Nelson????? no thx). Unfortunately though, I have no discipline to finish a fic I start so this was supposed to be posted forever ago (considering I started it on June 1st, ugh) and the ending is so bad i’m so sorry
> 
> lso, special thanks to Allie for inspiring me and motivating me to finish this. You're a sweetheart and I love ya :)
> 
> Don't take any of this seriously, and just enjoy it. :)

    When Tyler picked Mike up from the airport at Love Field, it was dumping rain.  Tyler was a good bro, so of course he brought an umbrella and helped carry Mike's luggage out to his matte black Jeep, situating it in the trunk before shaking out the umbrella and ducking into the driver's side.  

    Mike's flight had been delayed six times, meaning he was hungry as hell. so they stopped at Dairy Queen on the way home and got some Juicy Dudes with cheese and two medium Brownie Batter Blizzards, just because fuck it, it was off season for Tyler and the two of them getting together definitely counted as something to celebrate in their book.

    The rain had died down significantly to a weak drizzle by the time Tyler had pulled into his driveway beside his new-ish G-wagon and sexy, white Maserati.  Marshall and Cash eagerly greeted them as they came in through the front door, nosing at their hands and the greasy bag of burgers and fries, but especially Mike, who ducked down to their level and scrubbed his hands over their coarse fur and ears.

    "Hi, sweet boys, hi," Mike cooed, grinning from ear to ear. "So happy to see Uncle Mike, aw,"

    Tyler smiled pleasantly and traipsed into the kitchen, setting their food onto the island in the center of the kitchen and put their Blizzards in the freezer so they wouldn't melt into a goopy mess.  He was peeling back the soggy wrapper and tearing into his Dude, taking a monstrous bite, while Mike was doing... something over on the other counter by the stove.

    "Come eat your Dude, bro," Tyler said totally unironically, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "What are you even doing?"

" _Packing Ashton in my cigarillo, yeah, that's Kusher_ ,"*

    The sound of the flicking of a lighter and the unmistakable musk of weed filled the air, along with a cloud of thick smoke that swirled from Mike's lips as he turned and beamed brazenly at Tyler, brandishing a freshly rolled jay between his fingers.

    "Time for a Snapchat story, bro," Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up, opening the app.

    "I don't fuck with that," Tyler deadpanned, immediately scurrying out of the frame of Mike's story and munching on his fries. "Snapchat, I mean,"

    "Six rain delays later and we're finally at the Seguin casa," Mike slurred at his phone, taking a hit and then choking a little. "Uhyuuh,"

    "You gonna share, bro?" Tyler asked once he was 100% sure Mike had posted his story and was no longer filming anything.

    "Thought you'd never ask."

    Leaving his phone on the counter, Mike joined Tyler at the island and rested his elbows on the hard, tropical brown granite countertops, puffing on the blunt once more before handing it off to Tyler and reaching for his burger. Tentatively, Tyler inspected the blunt and took a hit, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before letting it all out in a smooth exhale.  He passed it back to Mike with a smile, already feeling the beginnings of a buzz start to bloom through his chest, which was wild.

    "Haven't smoked since Toronto a year back or so," Tyler said, finishing his fries and reaching for the last bit of his Dude.

    "S'good shit, isn't it?"

    "Yeah, I'm already feeling it,"

    Mike laughed and toked it, humming thoughtfully and then nibbling at his own fries. "You know I always got the goods, brah. You'll be sleepin' good tonight, homie."

    Tyler balled up the wrapper and stuffed it into the carton his fries were in, then dropped it into the bag. "Speaking of sleep, where do you wanna crash?" he asked. "Plenty of guest rooms down here, upstairs... you could sleep on the couch if you wanted... Wherever."

    "Is your bed big?" Mike asked, chewing on his Dude. "I wanna sleep in your room. With the dogs."

    "Sure, I mean," Tyler laughed, scratching his head. "if that's what you wanna do."

    So they put out their roach and dropped it down the disposal, grabbed their Blizzards, and headed upstairs to Tyler's room. Cash and Marshall bounded after them, curled at the foot of the bed after they crawled in and turned on the tube to watch some ESPN.  Mike toed off his Concords and put his feet up, leaning into the pillows and resting his head on Tyler's shoulder while the flickering light of the TV displaying baseball highlights flooded the dimly lit room with a bluish hue.

    "Fuck,"

    Tyler glanced down at Mike to see him pawing at his Freshletes tee, a wet chocolate stain smeared on his torso. "How'd that happen?" he asked, slurping another bite of Brownie Batter Motherfricking Bliss into his mouth.

    "It dripped off my spoon," Mike grunted.

    He set his pretty much empty cup on the bedside table and hefted himself out of bed awkwardly, trudging off to the bathroom. He reemerged no longer than a minute later, his shirt no longer on his person, and dove into bed. Cash yipped in protest at the sudden movement, but Mike was already burrowing into the covers with his face pressed into Tyler's fluffy, down pillows. Tiredly, Tyler yawned and clapped Mike's shoulder, wiggled out of his sweatshirt.

    "Ready for bed, bro?"

    All he got in response was a faint groan, so Tyler brushed his teeth and rinsed his face with some warm water and got back in bed with the dogs and Mike. Before he pulled back the comforter and nestled in, he studied the scene-- Cash and Marshall curled up and snoozing at the end of the bed, Mike's face relaxed and serene and kinda mushed up in his pillow, but he still looked... cute?

At any rate, Tyler simply felt so much better having someone to share his spacious house with, even if it was just for a couple of days.

 

\---

    When he woke up the next morning to the morning sun shafting over his face, they may or may not have been spooning.

\---

 

    "Have you ever been skating before?"

    Mike's laugh was weird, a mix of forced and a little uneasy, if Tyler was hearing correctly.

    "Of course I have, Seggy." he said, stirring his spoon through his favorite baked potato soup from Panera. "I'm from Rhode Island."

    "That.. doesn't really have anything to do with skating," Tyler laughed back.

    He felt it necessary to somewhat defend Texas in that instance, considering in no way his new home was a hockey city or state at all, but despite that, there were plenty of hockey niches to be found across the region, and plenty of invested, passionate fans that gave their all to the Stars.

    "Well, to answer your question, yes." Mike punctuated his sentence with a slurp of soup. "I have skated before, homie."

    Still, Tyler studied him with a curious gaze.

    "Then let's go on a skating date, bro. We can go to the rink." Tyler took a bite of his Italian combo and added with a smile, "It would be good for me."

    And that's how they ended up at the rink in Frisco.

    Tyler always kept a pair of skates in his Jeep (or his Maserati (or his new G-wagon)), just in case the irrepressible urge to feel perfect, smooth ice beneath his skates overcame him. And there was no way he would let Mike use rentals, so of course, he was a good bro and lent him a pair of his own. They sat on the bench closest to the Rally House and laced up. That feeling that Tyler always gets before coming close to the rink, that sharp anticipation that bubbles up in the veins of his wrists and blooms, floods up through his arms and into his chest and sends adrenaline rushing through his being, made him feel light as a feather, brazen.  He beamed at Mike as they reached the gate and he unlatched it and pushed out onto the ice. He was taking long strides, reaching and cutting across the ice when he heard sounds of protest.

    "Nononono, no!" Mike called, hanging onto the gate. "Uh, uhm, Tyler, come back!"

    Skidding to a stop, Tyler pivoted around and skated back towards Mike.

    "What are you doing?"

    "I, uh. Bro, you left me!"

    "Come on, bro, let's do this!"

    " _Tyler_ ,"

    Tyler worked his feet and hips, cutting c-shapes into the ice as he slowly skated backwards and in turn, away from Mike.

    "Come onnnnn. Why're you trippin'?"

    Mike's lip curled as he met Tyler's accusing eye. Suddenly, he pushed off of the gate and travelled maybe two feet before flailing his arms and diving at the boards.

    "Oh my god,"

    "Fuck!"

    It hit Tyler.

    "You can't skate! You've never skated before!"

    "Bro, Seggy, on God, I know I said I could bu--"

    Tyler laughed, gliding back to Mike and grabbing his elbow. "Dude, it's okay. Really, it's fine."

    Again, the younger guy pivoted so he and Mike were facing the same direction and clasped their hands together.

    "What're you--"

    "Hold my hand, bro. We're doing this."

    Mike's bright blue eyes locked on Tyler's in shock, but he clutched his hand like he was the only thing in the world keeping him from snapping his ankles and busting his ass on the ice. And they skated. Or rather, Tyler skated, muscular thighs powering them, and carried Mike along like a dog on a leash. As they went around and around for several laps, Tyler fed his bro little tips, telling him to just keep his ankles straight and lean forward a little ("Never EVER lean back or you're fucked for real."), keep his core tight.

    "Kinda getting the motion now?"

    Mike strided a couple times on his own, still gripping tightly to his lifeline (aka Tyler), however.

    "Yeah, I think I got it."

    "Okay, I'm gonna let go, but I'll be right here."

    Tentatively, Mike released Tyler's hand and tested out his balance. He was a little shaky, but he took a deep breath and strided forward. Mike was quite athletic, maybe even stockier than Tyler, so it was a little easier for him to get the motion engraved into his muscle memory than the average person who's never skated before. He pushed out carefully, the ice giving and crunching deliciously beneath the blades of his skates as he carved his way around the perimeter of the rink. He felt good, gaining confidence by the second as the chilling wind from his momentum kissed his cheeks and painted them with blush, and his quads and hammies burned nicely from the effort. All was going well until he leaned a little too far forward and lurched, yelping and grabbing at Tyler for support. Mike swore as he wobbled and tried to regain his balance and hoped to god he wouldn't bust ass, but Tyler was there and he held him up the best he could.

    "Hey, hey, you're okay!" the younger guy insisted, hand pressed to the small of Mike's back while the other gripped his arm. "You were looking pretty good out there! Almost like a natural."   

    Mike laughed uncertainly but flashed Tyler a smile. He lived for praise. That positive reinforcement really did things for him, all the time.

    "Thanks, bro. I've been taught by the best."

    Tyler grinned back. "Couple more times around and ya wanna head out?"

    "Sure, why not?"

    "We can hit Chipotle after, brah. I've got a gift card from my liney!"

    The remainder of their time skating around the rink, they never left go of each other’s hands.

 

\---

 

    They got drunk.

    Not like, super fucking hammered, but they went through a six pack of Michelob Ultra's easily and each had two little glasses of Crown Royal Black on the rocks(Tyler only got it because it was the special edition for World Juniors with the Canadian hockey logo on the bottle). In essence, they were feeling pretty damn good. And all of the sudden, Tyler wanted sno-cones.

    "Who... Why sno-cones? What are you, five?" Mike slurred, swirling the remainder of the whiskey around in the bottom of his glass.

    Tyler giggled, cheeks a perfect hue of pink and eyes crinkly and a little squinty, too. "Might as well be." He bounced up and down on the sectional, grabbing one of the cushions that were honestly just for decoration as they weren’t comfy at all and hitting Mike's thighs. "Come oooonn, let's goooooo,"

    "Fine," the older guy conceded. 'These better be good, though."

    They packed Marshall in the back seat of Tyler's Jeep and rolled the windows down, the hot, dry Texas breeze serving as decent air conditioning to their drunk-flushed skin. Tyler insisted on playing Mike's music, On and On apparently on repeat (which reminded Mike of that hilarious video of the hockey player attempting to dance), but he wasn't complaining. As they headed down the service road, Tyler's hand found Mike's thigh and squeezed endearingly, but neither of them paid much attention as they rolled up into the parking lot of Rainbow Snow.

    Hopping out of the driver's side, Tyler opened the back seat and clipped Marshall's leash to his collar, ruffling his ears a bit before letting him hop down. He cooed at the chocolate lab while he tied his leash up around a parking pole, and Mike came around the front of the Jeep, stretching out his muscular limbs and yawning.

    "We drove nearly a half an hour," the older guy groaned, arms curled above his head.

    Tyler rose out of his crouch and casted a pointed gaze in Mike's direction. "So?"

    "So, like I said before, these better be good."

    “Are you doubting me?” Tyler gasped, huge hand curled over his mouth in mock disbelief. “Trust me, Mike. I come here all the time. They know me.”

    With a laugh, Mike pushed Tyler at the glass doors and they entered Rainbow Snow, a kind of small, tidy establishment with a vibrant, colorful menu to the right of the register boasting of their diverse selection of sno-cone concoctions.

    “Hello, Mr. Seguin! Who did we bring with us this evening?” the cashier greeted.

    Tyler grinned at the eager employee behind the counter and waved at Mike. “This is one of my best bros, Mike Stud! Best rapper in the game! He came to visit so I decided to bring him to the best sno-cone place in Big D.”

    “Well, thanks for getting our name out there and bringing your famous friends! The business is very, very good for us. Take your time scoping out the menu, Mr. Mike Stud!”

    After several minutes of giggling and jostling each other playfully, Tyler went with the Pink Lemonade sno-cone while Mike ordered the margarita sno-cone. Tyler regulars the little sno-cone shop so often that the cashier handed him a little baggie with special, homemade peanut-butter doggy treats.

    “Tell Cash and Marshall we said hello! Thanks for coming in, and have a great night!”

Thanking the employee, Tyler and Mike pressed past the glass doors clutching their sno-cones tight and raced each other to the Jeep. Mike won, obviously because Tyler had to unwrap Marshall who had been such a good boy waiting patiently outside and heft him up into the back seat. Tyler scrambled to the front seat, plugged his keys into the ignition, pealed out of the parking lot and headed back towards home.

Tyler’s system was fucking bumping, bass thudding in their seats and basically giving them a back massage as various songs from Mike’s Closer album chorused from the speakers and out the windows into the thick air. They slurped on their sno-cones at red lights and chanted the lyrics at each other until they neared Tyler’s neighborhood. Marshall howled along with them, jumping excitedly in the back seat.

“Serenade me, bro,” Tyler hummed, licking up his pink snow from his spoon.

Mike laughed, and obliged.

“ _You start losing your mind when you're gone all the time and you’re always on the move_

_And you try to remind yourself it's gonna be fine_

_And you’re hoping that it's true_

_But I know we're getting closer_ ,”**

The outro of Mike’s mom’s heartfelt voicemail continued to play and eventually faded into the dark of the sweltering Texas evening, and Tyler finally lurched into the driveway and parked, tugging his keys from the ignition and dropping them into his lap. He turned his head, which was still a little swimmy from earlier, and faced Mike. The older guy, spooning the remnants of his sno-cone past his lips, did the same and smiled softly.

“That was deep and cute,”

Mike’s nose wrinkled and his small smile widened into a brazen grin. “You’re deep and cute.”

And he kissed him.

Tasting of straight liquor and Carmex chapstick (which smells like cupcakes, in Tyler’s opinion), Tyler kissed Mike’s really soft, plush lips a couple of times before drawing back and looking into his bright blue eyes. Mike’s tongue swiped around his mouth, eyebrow quirked curiously, before his dumbfounded expression broke into another grin.

“That was… different.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agreed, studying Mike’s face.

“Yeah.”

The awkward silence was unbearable, so Tyler punched Mike’s thigh and smiled hopefully.

“Just bros?”

“Yeah, man, just bros,”

**Author's Note:**

> * - lyrics from Mike Stud's song "Batter Up"  
> ** - lyrics from Mike Stud's song "Closer"


End file.
